


Can Always Quit Tomorrow

by ValentineRevenge



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Denial, Gen, Ghosts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-07
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-28 17:35:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/994675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValentineRevenge/pseuds/ValentineRevenge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard swore he could always quit tomorrow if he needed to. But what if tomorrow ends up being too late for him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

They all knew his name, but they didn't know his shame...  
  
Gerard had always had some issues with alcohol, no doubts about it. But of course, it wasn't like he let anyone really know the true depths of it. He'd drink himself into unconsciousness if he had the opportunity. He'd done it many times before. His world had come crashing down again. This time, it was in the form of his wife leaving him, taking their daughter with her.  
  
They were on tour again, and by day, he tried to put up a brave face, but by night, he was falling back into the same patterns he existed in when his beloved grandmother Elena had died suddenly years ago. But he denied it being a problem. He could always quit tomorrow, he told himself. And maybe he truly believed it. Every night, a different town. No one would judge him right?  
  
 **MIAMI**  
  
The show had finished an hour ago, and already, Gerard was at a bar. He entered, taking a seat alone at the far corner. "Hey man, what's it take to get a drink around here?" He asked the bartender.  
  
"What're ya drinkin' tonight?" The bartender questioned in reply, approaching him.   
  
"Whiskey on the rocks." Gerard said.   
  
The bartender complied, sliding his drink to him. Gerard quickly gulped it down, slamming the glass that now held only ice onto the bar when he was done. He both relished and hated the sharp burning feel of the liquor running down his throat. He motioned for the bartender to come over. The man complied, bottle of Jack in hand.   
  
"Keep 'em coming." Gerard said as his glass was refilled with the amber liquid.   
  
"No problem." The other man said. And he kept his word well, checking on Gerard's glass every so often, refilling it when it ran empty. The singer sat there, growing steadily more drunk. The bartender noted that he made no move to socialize with anyone else, and ignored any attempts at conversation by the other patrons. He seemed intent only on his drink. He was obviously a man trying to drink away his sorrows.   
  
Soon enough, it was closing time. "C'mon buddy, I gotta close up here." He said gently to Gerard.   
  
"Wha?" The intoxicated singer slurred, looking up in confusion. He didn't seem to be aware of how much time had passed.   
  
"I'll call ya a cab."   
  
"Alrigh'"  
  
Gerard allowed himself to be steered by the elbow outside to wait for the cab.   
  
While they were outside, the bartender asked, "What's got you drinkin' your sorrows away?"  
  
"M' wife lef' me wi' our kid." The singer mumbled in reply, sadness falling over his face.   
  
"Don't let it turn you into an alcoholic though."   
  
"M not a alcoc- aco- fuggit drunk. C'n always quit t'morra."  
  
The bartender sighed as he placed Gerard into the backseat of the cab. So many men said that, but they couldn't quite live up to it.   
  
**ATLANTA**  
  
"I don't know , Ray, but I'm worried he's slipping back into his old ways. Like I know that the divorce is hard on him, but I just, I can't eve!" Mikey said, throwing his arms into the air in frustration.   
  
"I know what you mean, but we can't jump to conclusions!" Ray said, trying to maintain a level head despite his own convictions.   
  
"Ray, he's been coming back tipsy and smelling like booze every night!"   
  
"The guitarist heaved a sigh. He couldn't just sweep this below the rug as well, under the veil of denial they both wished to exist under. "Then we'll talk to him, okay?"  
  
"He's in denial again! He keeps saying he can always quit tomorrow!"  
  
"We should at least show him the truth of how bad it can be before we jump down his throat."   
  
"Fine." Mikey said with a little huff. He knew that there was something wrong with his brother, and he didn't want to wait to fix it.   
  
Then, they were interrupted by Gerard stumbling through the hotel door.   
  
They were vaguely surprised that he even managed to get that far, remembering where he was staying. He somehow made his way over to the couch, flopping down onto it unceremoniously, face buried in the cushions.   
  
Before Ray could stop him, Mikey had opened his mouth and said, "Gerard, you're becoming alcoholic again."  
  
"Not the time for this!" Ray hissed, trying to drag Mikey out of the room by the elbow.  
  
"'M now, I c'n 'ways quit t'morrow" Gerard's slurred words were muffled by the fabric of the couch.   
  
"You've been saying that since she left you!"  
  
"Let's go." Ray said, yanking the bassist towards the door.  
  
Neither of them saw the look of pain that crossed Gerard's face when he heard Mikey's words.   
  
**Houston**  
  
While up on stage, all Gerard could think about his was his next drink. His hands trembled for the feel of a glass in them. His throat held a parched feeling that could only be eased by liquor. His feet stumbled, unaccustomed to the lack of encumbrance brought about by the booze.  
  
There was more than just his outward symptoms. His teeth were being eroded quickly by the nightly puking sessions brought on by all the drinking. The scent of vomit and booze clung to him, no matter how much he washed his clothes or showered and washed his hair. His bunk was crammed with empty bottles he needed to get rid of without anyone noticing, and his esophagus was growing weaker.   
  
**LOS ANGELES**  
  
Gerard could no longer make it a single minute sober while awake. He was drinking himself into an early grave. Every city he had gone to, fans had come up to him. They all knew his face, his name, but he questioned, did they know a single thing about his shame that weighed him down every day of his life? Did they know that he drank himself into a state of unconsciousness ever single night?  
  
It didn't matter if they did, because he wasn't an addict. He could always quit tomorrow.   
  
After his latest show, he went into a bar, took a seat, and before the bartender could get a single syllable out of his mouth, Gerard barked the words he'd grown accustomed to saying over the past few months. "Whiskey on the rocks, an keep 'em coming."  
  
After the bar closed, and the bartender stood outside with Gerard, waiting for a cab, he said, "Why you drinkin' yo problems 'way?"  
  
"'M wife left me, took our kid wi' 'er"  
  
"I'm real sorry to hear tha', but ya can' go killin' yaself over it."  
  
"C'n alw'ys qui' t'm'rr'...." Gerard slurred out, nearly incomprehensible. But even as he did so, a little voice in the back of his head asked quite clearly, "But can you really?"  
  
 **SEATTLE**  
  
The lights of the ambulance glowed red and white, wailing, turning a vaguely quiet night into a day of squealing. The doors slammed shut, leaving Frank, Bob, and Ray, their faces ashen.   
  
"I told Mikey not to confront him... Not yet at least. Oh God, this is all my fault." Ray choked out after a few minutes of silence.   
  
"Ray, I'm pissed about this too, but you can't blame yourself over this. None o f us knew how bad this really was." Frank offered.   
  
"Frank's right, Ray. We were all scared to jump on him about it in case we were wrong. This time, he hid it better than he ever had." Bob added in.   
  
One hour earlier, Mikey was searching frantically for Gerard. He had disappeared right before the show and they weren't going to go on stage without him. Unable to find him alone, he enlisted the help of the rest of his band.   
  
45 minutes ago, Frank heard a gasping, choking noise coming from a grimy broom closet. His hand shaking, he opened the door. A wave of air reeking of vomit and mildew and cleaner hit him. When the door opened, it revealed that the better part of the floor was covered in the contents of someone's stomach.   
  
That someone was Gerard, as evidenced by him in the corner, gasping for air, pupils dilated, skin pale and clammy, a sheen of sweat on his forehead.   
  
"Gerard? Are you okay?" Frank asked, feeling like a frightened 5 year old running into his mother's room in the middle of the night all over again.   
  
Gerard tried to answer, only to make a strange gagging noise in his throat.   
  
"Holy fuck." Frank breathed, before gasping in air, and yelling at the top of his lungs, "MIKEY! I FOUND HIM!"  
  
30 minutes ago, Mikey called the EMTs, who showed up on the scene before long. They proclaimed him to be suffering probably alcohol poisoning, possibly dehydrated, in shock, and perhaps having ruptured his esophagus from vomiting so much so forcefully.   
  
As he passed out of consciousness, the EMT's loaded his comatose body onto the stretcher, starting an IV line, before moving the whole setup into the ambulance. They allowed only one member to travel with the singer. Mikey was the one elected to go with his brother.   
  
15 minutes ago, the remaining 3 members went on stage, informing the audience that Gerard had suffered a medical emergency, and that they regrettably had to reschedule the show, but they would give refunds.   
  
Each of the 4 conscious members questioned himself the same thing. Why hadn't he confronted Gerard sooner?  
  
In the hospital, Gerard lay still unconscious, in a bed in the ICU, his brother nearby. Before long, a doctor came in to talk to the younger Way.   
  
"You're Gerard's younger brother?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"I'm afraid I have some bad news, sir."  
  
Mikey felt his stomach plunge. "What?" he managed to choke out past the lump that was forming in his throat.  
  
"Well, it looks like Gerard may not make it to the morning."   
  
"Why?"  
  
The doctor let out a sigh, as if he'd dealt with too much sadness for one night. "May I sit?" he asked.  
  
Mikey nodded numbly.   
  
The doctor took a seat across from Mikey, smoothing out his white coat. He glanced down at his charts. "Where do I even start?" he asked, an edge of sorrow in his voice.   
  
The bassist swallowed, scared to hear the truth confirmed that by the morning, he would be an only child.   
  
"You brother Gerard was an alcoholic, and probably for a few years, Mr. Way."  
  
Mikey didn't even bother correcting the doctor on the name part, only saying, "He used to have alcohol problems in the past, but he got over it. I mean, in the past few months, I was suspicious he started again, but I was scared to accuse him about it. He just said it was a few drinks and he could always quit tomorrow."  
  
"I see. Often times, alcoholics say they can stop when they feel like it, but many times, they can't. Your bother's liver and kidneys are barely functioning. They'll last him another 5 years or so if we're lucky. But of course, that's provided he stops his drinking. "  
  
Mikey nodded, dumbly, knowing somehow that Gerard would never get a chance to stop drinking.   
  
"His blood alcohol level tonight, more alcohol than blood, near fatal levels. He has alcohol poisoning, which we're trying to correct, dialysis to help his poor kidneys do their job. He was so intoxicated he was vomiting quite a bit according to the EMT reports. This was so forceful, and his esophagus probably already so weakened from prior vomiting that it lead to Boerhaave's Syndrome. His blood levels, phosphates, potassium, sodium, and so forth, are all out of order. His heart is experiencing arrhythmia." The doctor said, eyes full of regret at having to be the one to inform the bassist of all this.   
  
However, the only thing that Mikey could ask, with a perplexed look on his face was, "Boerhaave's Syndrome?"  
  
The doctor took off his glasses, closing his eyes for a moment. He took a deep breath, before opening his eyes again, and saying, "Boerhaave's Syndrome is when a person vomits so forcefully that they rupture their esophagus. Usually, the person has a history of purging, alcoholism, or a disease that causes frequent vomiting."   
  
Mikey nodded, fighting back tears. "Is there anything you can do?"  
  
"We're waiting for a specialist to come and do whatever they can to help Gerard. Even so, the prognosis isn't good. There's about a 1 in 4 chance of him dying, even if the surgery goes well.   
  
"I understand." Mikey said quietly.  
  
  
  
  
  
 **Just a little something based off Framing Hanley's song "Can Always Quit Tomorrow." Thought this one up in Chemistry class some time in April. I do have to say, it seems that over the past year, Chemistry class is where I've been coming up with some of my best ideas for fics. Somehow, I still passed. Might continue this, I don't know yet, it depends on what kind of feedback I get.**


	2. Chapter 2

Unconscious in his hospital bed, Gerard lay in a dream world. He could hear vaguely, as if from a distance, the voices of his brother and another, unknown man talking. He couldn't quite tell what they were saying, but the tone alone indicated to him that it wasn't anything good.   
  
However, before Gerard could try tuning in to the faint, far off words, he began to see a glowing light in front of him. Part of his mind told him he was dreaming, but he ignored it.   
  
From the depths of the light, a figure began to step forwards. Gerard stayed still, breath bated, waiting for whoever it was to finally come close enough for him to identify. The time that lapsed could have been seconds, or centuries, and he wouldn't have been able to tell the difference, nor did he want to. At this moment, time was moving too quick for him, yet moving at a snails pace at the same time. He just wanted it to pick one or the other, not both, but most of all, he just wanted to be back with his band, not in whatever place this was.   
  
Gradually, the singer began to make out more details of the person coming towards him.   
  
Whoever it was, they weren't very large. In fact, they seemed to be rather short and fragile in stature. Most of their body seemed to be wrapped in a robe or dress, only arms, lower legs, and head free. This signified to Gerard that they were either woman, child, or a small man, maybe Frankie's size.   
  
Several steps later, it became apparent that the person was a woman, as evidenced by the purse they carried. Even in silhouette like this, they seemed familiar.   
  
The singer squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will himself back onto his tour bus. It didn't work.   
  
When he opened his eyes again, she was standing directly in front of him. There was a moment of tense silence, before he asked, "Grandma?"  
  
"Gerard." She replied, sorrow in her voice.   
  
"Grandma, am I dead?" Gerard finally asked, giving substance to the thought that had been running through his mind since seeing the white light. He suddenly sounded like a young boy, 30 years his junior. All of a sudden, he regretted asking it, as if asking would make it real.   
  
"Not yet." Elena said.   
  
He was silent for a moment, eyes welling up with tears as the news sank in. The thoughts of all the future joys he was giving up, all the people who would miss him swirled around his head.   
  
"Grandma, I don't wanna die! Not now! I have so much unfinished business!" The signer protested, sounding like a petulant child.   
  
"Gerard, you brought this upon yourself. You drank and drank until your poor liver gave up, and you broke yourself from throwing up your insides every night." The old woman said sadly.   
  
"But I wasn't an alcoholic!" Gerard protested, the tears starting to spill down his cheeks.   
  
Ever the one for tough love, his grandmother whacked him angrily with her purse. "Gerard Arthur Way! Alcoholics always deny it! If you had reached out for help even one drink sooner, you'd be just fine now! You always told everyone you could always quit tomorrow, so why didn't you?"  
  
Gerard rubbed the aching spot on his arm. His grandmother apparently hadn't lost her knack for knocking sense into people when the occasion called for it. The tears started to come faster now. "I was gonna stop, Grandma! I was gonna stop tomorrow!"  
  
"I always told you never put off until tomorrow what you can do today, and should do today, because by the time tomorrow gets here, it's already today. You ignored that, and look where you are now."   
  
"I know, but I swear after tonight, I'm never touching another drink!" Gerard sobbed. He never thought that his bad habit would get this far.   
  
Elena laid her hand on his arm, and said quietly, almost reluctantly, "Gerard, for you, there may not be a tomorrow."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikey has a heart to heart moment with the doctor.

"What time is the specialist going to get here?" Mikey asked the doctor. He just wanted to get this night done with. Maybe there was still a light of hope in the distance for his brother.  
  
"Most likely not for a few hours. Either way, there's not much, if anything, that they can do until we've removed the alcohol from his system." The doctor replied. He heaved a sigh. He'd seen this play out before, and to be entirely honest, he was sick at tired of it. Tired of having to see men throw away their lives. Tired of seeing them die of addictions they could have easily beat, if only they had asked for help. Tired of having to inform families of the bad news. But most of all, he was tired of not being able to save them all.   
  
Mikey could only nod numbly in response. This was all too much to process for him right now. He swallowed hard, his mouth dry, before opening it to speak. The first time he tried, nothing came out. He closed his mouth, taking in a deep breath, before trying again, "He's not going to make it, is he?"  
  
"I'd like to tell you everything is going to be fine. But the reality is, with the condition that he's put his body in, it doesn't look good, even if we manage to fix his throat. I'd suggest you call your parents, and if he has a partner, let them know. "  
  
The younger of the two nodded sadly. As much as he didn't want to ask the question, he had to know. However, once the words came out of the doctor's mouth, that made it all too real. He didn't want to lose his brother. He'd been his best friend since as far back as either of them could remember. Even when they'd grown up, they'd stayed in constant contact, talking and texting constantly and hanging out every chance they'd gotten. For all that to suddenly stop, for Gerard to be here today and gone tomorrow, Mikey didn't think that he could handle it.   
  
Tears began to prick at his eyes, and a few actually made their way down his cheek.   
  
"I understand it's hard to think about." The doctor said, placing a comforting hand on the bassist's shoulder.   
  
He shrugged it off angrily. "You understand? You _understand_? I fucking hate it when people pretend they know how it feels! What the fuck do you understand about losing someone from something they did to themselves? What do you _understand_ about knowing you could have fucking prevented it but you didn't open your goddamn mouth in time? Huh?! Tell me just what the fuck you 'understand!" He screeched.   
  
The older man heaved a sigh, before saying, "Back in the 80's, I had three sons. My youngest was Scott. He was picked on in school for not being athletic. He acted like it wasn't a big deal, but it bothered him. He started drinking. One day, my wife was cleaning his room, and found empty beer bottles. We sat him down, and talked with him, but he said that he had stopped. I believed him." Here the doctor stopped to take a shaky breath. His voice sounded pained, and behind the glasses, his eyes were watery.   
  
"About 6 months after that, I was at work, and got a call. They'd brought my son into the hospital, covered in his own vomit. It turned out he never stopped drinking, and that day, he had drank himself into a nasty case of alcohol poisoning. By the time I got to the hospital, he was already gone. So yes, I know what it feels like."  
  
"'m sorry." Mikey said. Now that he knew the story, he felt like a complete and utter douchebag for screaming at the doctor like that.   
  
"It's not your fault kid. This isn't an easy situation. I'll be back in a half hour or so to check in on you."  
  
The bassist nodded. He had some phone calls to make.


End file.
